Not Just a River In Egypt
by She's a Star
Summary: Ah, denial. Severus Snape and Auriga Sinistra know it well. But can everyone's favorite Mr. Magical Me get them to confess their feelings? ...WHAT feelings? A.K.A. Probably not.


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Not Just a River In Egypt

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by She's a Star

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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.

But oh no. That is not all.

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Diaries of a Dungeon-Dwelling Moron is Gedia Kacela's, and is a companion to my own fic **Lamentations of a Starry-Eyed Twit.** They're diaries from Snape & Sinistra's POV, respectively. The excerpt that Auriga reads in this fic is from Diaries. And everyone must go read Diaries. Because it's the best.

Destiny Du Maurier, who is too hilarious for words, is originally from Drama-Princess's **Family Matters**, and good ol' Destiny is also mentioned in Lamentations and Diaries. 

And...that's about all.

Whoohoo.

Oh, yes. And Snape's first sentence talking about Gilderoy was written by Gedia Kacela. 

Phew. That was the lengthiest disclaimer I've ever written. What an accomplishment.

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Dedication: This is for my ever-beloved competitor Milla (Drama-Princess), 'cause she wanted me to write it, and who am I to refuse her? :-) She happens to be captain of the splendiferous ship Snape/Sinistra, which is written in the stars.

Seriously. It is.

See Lamentations for further information.

Ah, shameless self promoting. I know it well.

Anyway. The fic. Yes. Right.

*

Ah. Valentine's Day.

Hearts. Roses. Candy. Whispered proclamations of love. Red. Pink. Cherubs. Good old l'amour.

Severus Snape _hated_ Valentine's Day.

Which, quite naturally, was why Auriga Sinistra loved Valentine's Day.

And the Valentine's Day spirit was definitely in the air this year.

Or...it had littered the Great Hall quite splendidly, anyway.

_Honestly_, Auriga thought, watching the purple vein throb in Snape's temple as she picked absently at her breakfast, _Some people have no appreciation for this holiday._

Snape, however, didn't seem to be the only one who was deeply loathing February the fourteenth. Minerva McGonagall's mouth was set in to a _very_ fine line, Albus Dumbledore seemed to be smirking, and Iolana Hooch was staring incredulously at Gilderoy Lockhart.

Mmmm. Gilderoy Lockhart.

The rest of the Hogwarts staff obviously gave him an unnecessarily hard time. After all, he _was_ a very able Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. 

...Really, he was.

Er. He just chose to...hide his amazing talents, so as not to make everyone else feel inferior?

All right, fine, he was absolutely useless.

But damn, was he ever nice to look at.

Siiiigh.

She was pretty sure that no other man could pull off pink.

"You're drooling again, Auriga," Snape hissed through clenched teeth.

Particularly _that_ man.

"Shove off," she muttered back. "And you'd better take a few deep breaths before your head explodes. That whole vein-throbbing thing really _does_ flourish at times, doesn't it?"

"You're wasting your time, Sinistra," Snape growled. "There's no way an overstuffed peacock who dresses in the questionable manner that he does would have an affinity for the fairer sex." He glanced at her with a tilt of his eyebrow. "Though I am not altogether sure that you qualify to be considered in that category yourself."

"Bastard," she scowled. (She had made the conclusion long ago that a conversation with Snape was not truly complete until the aforementioned word was used.)

She then narrowed her eyes at him in a most dangerous manner before focusing her attention on Lockhart again.

He was, after all, much more interesting than Snape.

Resting her chin in her hands, she looked on as Lockhart said something about Snape showing students how to brew love potions (mwahaha...). God, he was good-looking. Surely it wasn't healthy to be that good-looking.

Not that she was complaining.

She only wished that he hadn't mentioned the forty-six Valentines he'd gotten earlier. 

Really, she hadn't intended to send him one. It had just been a...spur of the moment act of admiration between colleagues sort of thing.

Which, of course, was no excuse; Snape had given her that..._look_ anyway.

She really hated that..._look_.

He never gave anyone else that..._look_, either. Severus Snape possessed an assortment of Looks (so far, she'd counted eighteen sneers, twelve smirks, and one sort of facial contortion that had freakishly resembled a smile), and most were used for more than one purpose.

Not that..._look_.

Nope. That..._look_ was officially reserved for Auriga.

And it rather unnerved her. 

All right.

It was officially time for the likely denial spiel.

(Eh eh eh ehm.)

Severus Snape was a bastard.

A _heartless_ bastard.

He was slimy and sardonic and unbearable and she didn't like him at all.

At _all_.

It didn't _matter_ that she had her own..._look_. It wasn't all together a very nice look.

Though she supposed it couldn't be qualified as a sneer or glare, or even a scoff.

As a matter of fact, it was a rather..._benevolent_ expression, considering Snape wore it.

But no.

No. No no no no no.

She would _not_ get into that again.

Lord knew she had been getting into it for the last year.

Severus Snape was _not_ interested in her.

She was _not_ interested in Severus Snape.

...The end.

With a satisfied sigh, she took a swig of pumpkin juice and fixed her gaze once more on Mr. Magical Me.

Ah, sweet denial.

*

_'Had to work very hard in order to keep breakfast in stomach while watching Sinistra's pathetic display of infatuation over Lockhart._

Am tempted to kill him. Am refraining urge by hiding out in the teacher's lounge. Don't think that Dumbledore would take kindly to finding Lockhart dead, though everyone else would surely thank me.

Sinistra, of course, is completely oblivious to the fact that the effeminate git is entirely inept. (Not to mention he has the most frightening dress sense of anyone I've ever encountered.)

It is rather sad, how clueless she is.

I hate that woman.'

"Severus, old boy!" 

Snape slammed shut the journal in which he kept accounts of his mundane and treacherous existence at the sound of Lockhart's detestable voice.

"What do you have there?" Lockhart asked curiously, completely oblivious to Snape's absolutely downright lethal glare of _death_. "A diary?"

Ha.

A diary.

A _diary_.

How dare he even imply that _Snape_ would keep a diary? Diaries were for twelve year old girls with pigtails and Teen Witch Weekly magazines. Diaries were for prissy little children.

Or Lockhart.

"You're not a very talkative fellow, are you, Sev?"

The vein was back, throbbing with flourish.

Along with it came an eye-twitch that Snape hoped was maddeningly formidable.

Lockhart didn't seemed at all affected.

Snape couldn't help but vaguely wonder whether or not Lockhart's two brain cells were functioning properly today. It seemed not.

"So, did you receive any Valentines today?" Lockhart continued, sinking down into the chair next to his own.

_Twitch._ **Throb.** _Twitch._ **Throb.**

Amazing.

The pitiful excuse for a human being was still completely oblivious.

"I got one from that Auriga Sinistra," Lockhart continued, chuckling jovially. 

_Twitch_**Throb**_Twitch_**Throb**_Twitch_**Throb**_Twitch_**Throb**_Twitch_**Throb**_Twitch_**Throb**_._

"I have to admit, I wasn't too surprised," Lockhart went on with a knowing grin. "I mean, not to offend you, Snape old boy, but I think we both know who a woman would choose when we were placed side by side."

_Kill. KILL!_

(Now, how could he make this idiot's death look like an accident?)

"I _am_ sorry about taking her away from you, though," Gilderoy continued with a heavy sigh. "I've come between many a romance, let me tell you-" he laughed shortly, looking _very_ pleased with himself, "But the guilt is always as fresh."

. . . 

Surely Snape had not just heard what he'd thought he'd heard.

Because if he had, he had no choice but to murder the brainless bastard. _Violently_. And, Goddammit, he'd enjoy it! How _dare_ he imply that he and...Sinistra, that pathetic spinster, that starry-eyed _twit_, were...together?

Shudder.

Shudder-twitch-shudder.

Shudder-twitch-shudder-shudder-sneer.

Ah. Good. The Sneer.

The Ultimate Sneer of Death, Trepidation, Horror, Pain, and Other Equally Unappealing Things.

Even _Lockhart_ couldn't be as thick as to miss this sneer.

And he didn't.

"Now, now, Severus," he said, laughing nervously and backing a few feet away from Snape, "I'm sorry. I didn't know that you two were so..._close_."

SHUDDER**Throb**_Twitch_**SNEER**SHUDDER**Throb**_Twitch_**SNEER**.

"I'm sure that she still loves you, chap!" Lockhart continued, going rather pale. "I'm just...a temporary distraction! After all, looks aren't everything!"

And with that, he let out a strange sort of squeak and ran from the teacher's lounge.

Snape allowed himself a half-sneer-half-smirk of triumph before the disgusted scowl returned. 

Sinistra.

Auriga Sinistra.

And himself.

Together.

Shudder.

Feeling particularly compelled to express his abhorrence, he reached for his journal (which was _not_ a diary) and a quill. 

_'Managed to terrify aforementioned effeminate git out of my presence. Came very close to murdering him._

Unbearable idiot had the gall to imply that Sinistra and I were...romantically involved.

Obviously, we are not.

And never will be.

If we were, I surely would not shudder while merely writing the words 'Sinistra', 'I', and 'romantically involved' in the same sentence.

Still hate her.

And this ridiculous holiday.

Loathe this ridiculous holiday with the passion of a thousand suns.

...Hate her_ more._

Do not see why anyone would even begin to assume that Sinistra and I are...yes, well. Obviously, the inhabitants of this school are completely asinine if they even assume such things. Do they not notice_ that we quarrel ceaselessly? If we were...yes, well, would we not exchange dreadfully maudlin sentiments and freely practice all those nauseatingly cliché romantic displays?_

I mean, is there a more unlikely_ potential romantic couple in this school? I think not. Why can't that big-headed dimwit pick out a disgustingly obvious pair instead, like Weasley and Granger? _

Because he is an idiot.

Simple.

Will not dwell on it.

Is not as though I care.

Am only wasting this much ink on it in the first place because the idea had never crossed my mind before.

. . . 

All right. Perhaps once or twice.

But always accompanied by the same thorough disgust, naturally.

...Except that one untimely occurrence.

Which does not count.

Was horribly drunk.

Managed to misspell twenty-seven out of fifty-two words.

Damn those Weasley twins.'

"What're you writing?" 

Snape jumped at the sound of a very familiar, very unwelcome voice that was located dangerously close to his ear.

__

"An epic novel, perhaps?" Auriga Sinistra asked, smirking at him. He attempted to ignore the fact that her glasses were sliding down the bridge of her nose. They _always _did that. It was incredibly annoying. It made him want to just...reach over and push her glasses up so they wouldn't be so unbearable. 

But of course, he always refrained from practicing this urge, as it gave him the excuse to touch her.

...No.

No.

No no. No no no.

Not 'gave him the excuse'.

Forced him to.

Forced him to.

Yes.

Right.

She seemed completely oblivious to the fact that his mind was obviously malfunctioning, and continued to mock him. "Ah, I can see it now. 'Bitter Lamentations of an Unbearable Bastard'. A Daily Prophet bestseller, for sure."

He sneered; a rather weak, pathetic sneer, on account of the fact that he was focusing the majority of his energy on forcing the idea of touching Auriga Sinistra in any way out of his mind and therefore could not dedicate his usual vigor to his unpleasant facial contortion.

"You know, Severus, sooner or later you're going to have to actually _communicate_ with people in ways other than...The Sneer."

She plopped down easily in the chair next to him and fixed him for a split-second with a defiant gaze that he never failed to find immensely irritable.

"So," she persisted, "What're you writing then, if not an epic novel?" Her eyes began to sparkle rather mischievously. "A..._diary_, perhaps?"

Really, this was too much.

"You and that brainless idiot are perfectly suited for one another," he muttered, glaring at her.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Really, Severus, you're losing your touch. That wasn't even the least bit insulting."

Damn her.

Repeatedly.

"You've got me quite curious now, Severus," Auriga continued. "After all, who _wouldn't_ be simply dying to see the diary of a dungeon-dwelling moron?" She leaned over, and he shielded the notebook with his arm. (Damn her, damn her, damn her.) "It's probably packed with epic poems about your homicidal intentions toward poor Harry Potter."

He pointedly chose to ignore her comment.

Personally, he'd found 'Die, Potter, Die!' to be a poetic masterpiece.

Shakespeare couldn't have done better.

"C'mon, Sev, let me see it," she continued, evoking more annoyance in him than he had thought possible.

"_What_ did you just call me?"

"I could always go back to 'bastard'," she threatened.

"Please, do," he replied tersely. "The idea of your giving me..." (a sneer), "endearing little nicknames is downright frightening."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You didn't object when Destiny du Maurier called you her 'dearest danish'. Personally, I find Sev just the tiniest bit less frightening."

He fixed her with a glare and tried _very_ hard not to remember the insane old cow of a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher whose presence had cursed Hogwarts a few years before. 

That woman had scarred him for life.

He would _never_ get over it. _Never_.

"You're particularly silent today," she continued. "It's rather disappointing that you haven't come up with a _single_ good comeback." 

He sneered at her.

"Oh, stop that," she ordered. "I'm immune. Get used to it."

The eye twitch was returning.

"Severus, are you under a lot of stress?" she inquired in mock concern. "You seem to be suffering multiple muscle spasms."

**SNEER**_Twitch_**SNEER**_Twitch_**SNEER**_Twitch_**SNEER.**

"You know, you're really aggravating today," she pouted. "I was hoping you'd do something unbearable and bastard-esque, a la yourself, so I could throw a coffee mug at you again."

He immediately reached for his coffee mug and removed it from her reach, saying, "I'm telling you, Auriga, if you even _try_ to repeat that little occurrence again-"

Damn.

She'd taken the journal-that-was-not-a-diary.

It was open.

Her eyes were zooming rapidly from left to right.

Which very probably, very unfortunately meant that she was _reading_ from it.

Sure enough:

"'She... nothing," Auriga read out in a loud, rather mocking voice that could no doubt be heard all the way down the corridors, "Nothing about Sinistra. I don't care about her. I do not dwell on her unbelievably frizzy hair or the pair of mismatched socks she wore this morning or the way her glasses sit on her nose. They are always crooked. Always. It makes me want to reach over and straighten them for her. Doesn't she know they have spells for that sort of thing? It's very... distracting.'" She paused and looked up at him.

He was going to kill her.

_Kill her_.

Avada Kedavra was on his lips.

....No.

Couldn't kill her.

Albus wouldn't be very happy.

Would probably fire him.

Damn.

When she continued, her voice was softer, and, unless he was very much mistaken, a blush had risen to her cheeks. "'I don't know how anyone can concentrate during conversations with her. I cannot.'"

A very heavy, very _awkward_ silence fixed itself in the air. Their gazes had locked, and he found himself wishing that she would just look down already. _He_ wasn't going to, of course. That would be downright degrading.

Of course, he could always blame it on the fact that she was too hideous to look at for extended periods of time.

. . . But really, she wasn't that bad.

Granted, her glasses were crooked, her face was scarlet, and her hair gave Hermione Granger's a run for its money, but...

No.

No 'but's.

She was a repulsive creature.

That was all.

The end.

Which still left him stuck in a demented sort of staring contest with the woman he detested more than anyone. (Besides, of course, Destiny du Maurier. Shudder.)

"Er," she finally said.

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Um..." she continued, rather coherently, "I have to go. To the Astronomy Tower. To...prepare lessons. Because...I have to...teach."

He nodded.

"Bye," she finished, dropping his journal on the table and speeding out of the Teacher's Lounge.

Well.

That had been...interesting.

Very interesting.

*

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10:52 A.M.

Astronomy Tower

Ah.

So it seems that I'm not the _only_ one in serious denial.

No, siree.

Severus Snape has a diary.

A _diary_.

And in aforementioned diary, he wrote about _moi._

Something about how he doesn't dwell on me.

The man loves me.

****

10:53 A.M.

Not that I care or anything.

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THE END

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End file.
